


The Utter West

by CaptainNautical, obrui



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aladdin AU, Arabian Nights AU, First Time, Hurt John Watson, Hurt Sherlock, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Teenlock, also its, also its a roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:10:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1353586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainNautical/pseuds/CaptainNautical, https://archiveofourown.org/users/obrui/pseuds/obrui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, a good for nothing street rat with nothing to his name, and Sherlock, a reckless prince with a castle and a life he hates, in a run down city called Agrabah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Utter West

**Author's Note:**

> this is a roleplay that was extremely loosely based on disney's aladdin, so being a roleplay excuse the following points:  
> -constantly shifting pov  
> -the first paragraph being an omegle prompt  
> -sex w o any prep or lube woops  
> -falling in love in around a week ?  
> -sherlock being slightly ooc ?  
> -we didnt change character names to be culturally appropriate  
> -any spelling/grammar errors  
> -general messiness on my part  
> -switching tenses  
> -etc
> 
> !this will never be finished!

Sighing deeply, John folded his arms across the ledge he was looking down and leaned his chin on his hands. So starts another day in Agrabah as just another street rat, a shadow among shadows. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his worn and bruised hand and blinked in the early morning sun. Below the streets and shops of Agrabah were already filled with buyers and merchants. The same crowd and same beggars beckoning out their hands with eyes of complete innocence. (Yet some John knew were only deceivers.) The early morning sun ignited life and noise and energy that practically hummed through the air. John huffed out a breath of air and turned his head, yet turned it back as something- someone- caught his eye. A boy that looked about John's age had just been pushed rather roughly out of the way by a palace guard. But when the boy looked up, his face was clean. Not worn nor scratched in any way. His eyes were such a piercing blue that John blinked a few times to stop his staring from a top his ledge. The boy brushed himself off and began looking around him, skillfully blending in with the others in the crowd as John watched. John smiled slightly, the boy may be able to hide from the commonwealth of the city; but John knew a stranger when he saw one. For he had lived here and watched as a shadow among the people for longer than he could remember. John hopped down off of the ledge smoothly and landed on another rooftop, leaning over to get a better look.

-*-

The boy is frowning as he is pushed and shoved, making his way through the swollen street. He's glad to have finally gotten out, of course- but the amount of people is not compatible with the amount of space.  
A rough hand plants itself on his back and he stumbles for a moment, regaining his balance quickly and whipping his head around to glare in the direction of whoever's hand that had been. A sharp laugh is wrung from his lips as he imagines their faces if they knew.  
But his head goes down again and he hurries along- the plan is for them not to know, remaining unseen is the only way to guarantee that. Of course even that might not be enough- studying streets on maps is, apparently, very different from actually being in them. He doesn't know the way of life here- and he knows it's showing.  
But the boy doesn't expect a problem. He knows he's intelligent, and is as usual, overconfident.  
Even then its still likely this will turn out fine.  
And then his stomach growls for the first time in his life, and he swears.  
He considers paying, having had taken an assortment of jewelry and gems with him- but it's just one apple.  
The boy assumes he won't be seen.  
He's wrong.  
A large hand lifts him by his small wrist, the apple falling out of his hand onto the dusty street below.  
The boy's eyes grow wide as the man holding him calls a guard over, making a point of shaking him while he's at it.  
"No- wait! I can pay, I was going to pay!" He masks the imperial tone in his voice, changing to their dialect the best he is able.  
The merchant looks down with doubt, and the boy reaches into the folds of cloth, grabbing a necklace at random. He holds it out, and suddenly the merchant has snatched it from his hand, waving it above his head at the guard that now jogs instead of walks.  
"Thief! He's a thief I say, look!" The necklace would of course be taken as proof of that.  
Fear suddenly seizes the boy, and he lashes out, kicking the man in the groin and ripping his wrist from the man's loosened hand. He's off, racing towards the nearest alley as quickly as the crowd will let him.  
People are shouting as he slinks past, the merchant now accompanied with three guards simply trampling people to get to him.  
They're advancing, but the boy knows once he gets out of the crowd, he will be able to get away. He's absolutely sure, this time. Glancing back, there's now four guards- the merchant likely having had returned to his stall, with his necklace still in hand.  
Then, suddenly, he stumbles- he's in the alley, darkness and stench pulsing from inside.  
He doesn't hesitate to sprint ahead, not anticipating running straight into someone else at that speed.  
The boy lands on the ground, scrambling upright and looking back over his shoulder- he can hear running footsteps.  
He looks ahead once more, at whoever it was he had collided with. 

-*-

John shifted himself, looking down at his feet as the stranger moved out of his sight. He crouched and ran his hand across the sand that had collected on the ledge he had decided to perch himself on. John thought for a moment and then sighed heavily as he snapped his tan hood up and covered the lower half of his face with a black scarf, only visible where he had placed it.

The weight shifted on a wooden beam suspended above the market place; silent feet landing and balancing their way quickly across is. The rough and bare feet jumped. Calloused and scarred hands shot out and caught the edge of a window cill. A lean body was swung and launched off the window cill and on top of a vendor shop's roof directly across from where the stranger's hand had been seized roughly.  
A hooded and masked figure tilted his head slightly as he listened to the argument erupting from the large and portly Sahib the shop owner and the stranger in front of him.  
'Thief!' rang through ears that had heard that word far too often. 

A necklace is held up high. John's eyebrow's knit, anger rising inside of him as the boy scrambles to get away and Sahib calls for the palace guards. He moves immediately. The roof is dismounted with a leap and as soon as he hits the ground John is off and running after the five of them: Three guards. One Merchant. One boy.  
John weaved in and out of the crowd easily without breaking speed; a thing that had taken years to perfect. Sahib's fat head came into view and John pushed harder, his cloak billowing about him but the hood and mask never moving an inch.  
John suddenly kicks himself off the ground and tackles Sahib right back down with him. Before the man can even stutter out a cry John slams his fist into his throat directly in the middle. The larger of the two gasps and wheezes whilst the boy rummaged his pockets madly. He snatched the necklace up as soon as he found it and was sprinting off once again.  
A fourth guard was heard behind John and his mind raced quickly.  
He suddenly turned down a tight corner to an alley.  
He turned again, and then again. John's feet were now slamming against the hard and hot ground to catch up with the boy and the guards chasing after him. 

When he finally caught up to him it had happened so quickly John had not the time to react. The two are sent smacking into each other. Bodies toppling to the ground in a manner that would have seemed comical if not for the situation.  
The boy looked back at him. John was once again momentarily struck by the piercing quality of those eyes. He shook his head both mentally and physically and quickly stood up, the foot fall coming closer and closer.  
John helped the boy up without a word and nudged his head in the direction of the opposite way.  
He did not wait to see if he had listened. John ran in the direction of the guards. The four of them stopping momentarily to call out 'oh look, the street rat!' Before they were animated once more. John sprinted on.  
When he reached the crowd of four he ducked in between the first and the second. His body sliding in between the space they had made and turning quickly to kick out his legs. The legs contacted with the part of the skin the armor on the guards had not covered. The man's knees buckled out of pure surprise and John slammed the mans head to the ground with his foot. A sword whizzed through the air around him and he ducked quickly, taking in a deep breath to steady himself. John then pivoted to the side and punched at the guard's face. Contact meeting at the bridge of his nose, blood spattering on John's knuckles.  
Sweat dripped down John's face, options flying through his head as he tried to think of a way out.  
They were suddenly and literally slapped out of John's mind as a blow connected with the corner of his jaw. John's head flew back and his body twisted, falling to his knees. John was kicked by a steel boot and spat on as the guard talked down to him.  
John's hands moved slightly and gripped a brick that had come loose from the side of a run down building. He threw this brick at the man standing over him, the heavy object smashing into the man's gut. John scrambled up and realized the other guards had went to go and get more, or maybe deciding he was not worth the trouble.  
John dropped to the ground with a shaky breath. He looked over to find the boy staring at him. He straightened his hood, the mask still unmoving, and reached into his cloak. John threw the necklace down to where the stranger was standing. He stood to leave. Needed to leave.  
Too much, John. Just like always.

-*-

You had run into another boy, about your age, perhaps. He was smaller than you, but from what you could tell he was more muscular- not built like you, but closer to the earth, thicker, sturdier. A hand pulled you up, a head directed you further down the alley. And then he was off.  
Obviously you did not follow his suggestion, instead pressing yourself again the wall of the alley and watching on, fascinated.  
He'd taken down two men, when finally he was knocked to the ground and kicked. You had only taken a few steps towards him when something was smashed into the guard's stomach, and you stop again.  
The boy turned to you- his face is hidden. Something flashes in the air, and you realize he'd thrown your necklace back to you. You catch it, tuck it away again, a sigh of relief- if the merchant had kept the necklace, it could be traced to the palace. That couldn't happen.  
You look up again, and the boy is gone. A frown grows on your face, and you look to the dirt road- following what had to be his steps, looking to the diminishing crowds until you catch something unusual out of the corner of your eye.  
A figure, running from rooftop to rooftop. The cloak is the right color, and there's a slight limp, one hand clutching the stomach.  
It could be no one but the boy, and so you begin to follow from the ground.  
You're behind, trying to stick to alleys to avoid confrontations with anyone, but not knowing your way around is kicking you in the ass once again.  
He's gaining, gaining, and you're running out of breath but you don't stop, until suddenly he's out of sight.  
You still don't stop, instead, continue until you are at the building you know is the last place you saw him.  
It's on the outskirts of the city- you've never been this far from your home before. Absurd, considering how large the world is, and how small this rundown city is. But it's true nonetheless, and it is what you are thinking about as you scour the surface of the building.  
It looks to be abandoned, and suddenly you are sure this is where the boy went. There's a window high enough that it could be swung into from the roof, and you smirk.  
You want to sneak up on him, a sudden urge to impress the boy taking over. A glance towards the doorway, you decide to instead climb to the upper story from the outside.  
Rather, you try, and fail.  
Instead you search for a building you could scale more easily that is nearby, and do so- most of the buildings in this area are falling apart, there's no lack in footholes. From the roof of that building you make your way to the roof of the one you are so sure the boy is in, and silently swing in through the window you are so sure the boy entered with.  
You are thankful that you are light on your feet, landing almost silently. Looking around, it's obvious someone lives here, but there's no sign of the one you are looking for.  
Until you take a step forward, and suddenly a knife is against your throat- a sign, but not exactly the sign you were hoping for. 

-*-

John sprints down the dirt road, stumbling slightly as he finds that the steel boot contacting to his slide multiple times had much more of an affect on him than he had anticipated. He gasps slightly, doubled over for a moment to catch his breath and hold his side with his left hand. Bruises for sure, but was there any other significant damage..? John stood upright once more and looked about him. He moved a few yards and then down an alley where he jumped on top of a stack of wooden crates. John flexed his fingers for a moment before shifting and jumping up to grab a hole in the wall caused by a loose brick that John had ripped out years ago. He made his way nimbly up the wall and stretched his legs momentarily. The boy was off and running again not a moment later.  
The roofs and ledges and ladders fly in and out of his sight in small fragments, the joy in going this fast and scaling these large heights fading away with the passing years. It was routine now. Nothing more.  
John made it to the abandoned building he had come to call home in less than no time. His side ached as the adrenaline drained from his body and blossomed with pain. He shook his leg slightly in an attempt to walk it off even more than he had already done so.  
Just as he was about to take off his hood, however, his ears perked and he turned around quickly. Feet suddenly landed in front of the window in his room. John ducks instantly and reaches for his dagger that he hated to use.  
He had the figure up against a wall with the dagger pressed against the pale throat in less than a second. Dark eyes blinked as the familiar piercing ones widened in slight, only slight, surprise back at him. John let him go, eyes softening minutely as he made sure his scarf was secured tightly around his face. He turned and threw away the dagger, taking a step back.  
"What are you doing? Go home." He said mildly, looking back at the other.

-*-

He saw the recognition in the other boy's eyes immediately, and took a breath as the knife left his throat. A hand checked the make sure the curious scarf was still in place, the boy stepped back, looking the other over with a raised eyebrow.  
"What are you doing? Go home." The tone was dismissive, the boy turned to walk away. There is a faint hurt showing in the eyes of the boy against the wall. The hurt turns to anger- which is, as we know, a secondary emotion.  
"No." His voice echoes and he can tell it was too obviously confident, irritated that he cannot stop almost giving himself away. A step in the opposite direction pauses, the foot hovering in the air, and he steals this chance to continue talking. "I don't- you know the way around the city, yes? " Silence is his only response, and so there’s a brief hesitation before he decides to continue.  
"Teach me." He realizes too late that he has accidentally taken on the tone of voice he'd use when referring to a servant, and bites the inside of his cheek and drawing blood while waiting for a response. He moves towards the shorter boy, just a step- both tense as he does it, and so he does not advance further.  
"Not just about the city, about- everything. What it's like here. Everything about it." This time he remembers to mask his voice, trying to make it subtle enough that the change in accents is not drastic, that only someone listening for it could tell it was there. But he thinks the boy might be listening.

-*-

You listen as the boys voice is much deeper than you expect it to be. Much deeper and far more harsh than you imagined. It was as piercing as his eyes, you think as you turn back to him. There's something in his voice that you have heard before. Something in the underlining tone that you suddenly wanted to smack out of him. He steps forward and you straighten fully, muscles tense. And then suddenly the air moves again and his voice changes. You are slightly thrown off but decide for now to ignore it; if it is important it will come up again.  
"And why should I do this?" You finally speak up through a lapse of silence.  
The boy infront of you has something pass over his face that you stop at. The way he is so shocked that you would say no or anything like a negative response drives you silent. You almost say a flat out no in response and demand him out of your home... Yet you do neither of these. The disappointment that seems to be seeping into the boys eyes more and more has you puzzled. Something about his actions and the way he pursued you half way across the city sends off a tone of desperateness.  
Being alone for this many years in your life have affected your empathy far too much and you sigh heavily, your shoulders sagging.  
"I will... show you about the city." You move to the open window. "But if you fall behind I will not be coming back or waiting around for you to come back." He looks back at you and you watch him for another moment. "Come."  
You swing yourself out and lean yourself back into the room slightly. You make sure he is watching you before you look down, see the wooden beam below yourself, and let go of the edge of the windowsill. Your feet land on the beam and you crouch immediately. You spread your hand out.  
"Easy." 

-*-

There's a hesitation before the older boy answers- and even then you're far from satisfied.  
"And why should I do this?" Its then that anger is not a secondary emotion but a primary one. And then it fades to disappointment, edging on despair.  
You left with out a plan, just needing to get away, as far as you could as fast as you could- and then there was a chance, and it-  
A sigh- "I will... show you about the city." You lift your head, eyes widening. You wonder if he is being honest.  
"But if you fall behind I will not be coming back or waiting around for you to come back." He watches you for a moment, and you only stare, before collecting yourself and nodding enthusiastically.  
Suddenly the older boy is throwing himself out of the window, and you watch as he drops to a beam below- far below.  
"Easy." Like hell, you think, but move forward to follow him anyways. You lean far over the edge of the window, and try to copy the way he slid down the side of the building, and crouching at the bottom. However it doesn't exactly follow through as smoothly as the boy had done it, but it's done in the end, with just a small stumble. You're fine.  
"Easy," you mutter, smug.  
The older boy watches you curiously for a moment, a moment so small you only catch a glimpse of it. And then he's off, and you follow as closely as you can.  
He seems to be able to run up walls, jumping and rolling all while pointing out and naming things as you go and for once you are immensely glad that you have a near photographic memory, its finally of use to you for something actually interesting.  
You adjust to the pace soon enough, eventually comfortable to the point of not exactly watching your steps.  
You should have been- maybe then the jump to the next roof wouldn't have fallen short.  
You realize it just as your feet leave the ground, that you aren't going to make it.  
-And your body slams against the side of the building and your fingers are scrambling on the ledge and youre trying to pull yourself back up but then the first hand slips and the second and-  
-And a warm hand grabs your wrist and pulls you back up, coughing and shaking.

-*-

John goes through his routine day as he normally would, though this time it became an auditory tour. He jumped and climbed and threw himself off of ledges while running through his thought process and different sights and buildings that he thought the boy would find interesting on the way to the center of the city. John stopped momentarily, half way up a ladder, at one point turning and leaning over to the boy. "See that man down there?" He nodded towards an old man bundled up with what seemed to be a thousand layers. How he had not collapsed from heat stroke no one could ever find out. "Do not give him your cloak or any type of clothing. Do not ask. Just don't." John looked back at him and made sure the boy knew he was serious. "Really."  
He was off once again and running and jumping across much higher buildings and ledges and crumbled things that could barely be considered a home, yet served as one.  
John jumped across a rather taller ledge and kept going. But then suddenly the thudding of feet was not behind him. John's ears perked and he threw himself back across the ledge and to the side of the building. The boy was scrambling up the wall and at the very last moment when it looked as tho he would fall to his death, John shot out his hand and caught his wrist.  
The boy shook and coughed and you let out a shaky breath of your own. The older boy pulls the younger up and forgets to let go of his wrist where he can feel the heartbeat pulsing madly through his wrist. "You're okay." He states half to himself.  
"Perhaps we will go to the ground now..?" John offered, letting go of the thin wrist.  
"I will show you the market. Is that okay? I promise I will make sure Sahib gives you no trouble." John smiles slightly tho he knows the boy cannot see it.

-*-

I'm pulled up, and once my breathing slows and my heart quiets, I realize my guide seems just as shaken as I am. His grip on my wrist does not loosen, and I hear him mutter something about that fact that I have survived unscathed under his scarf.  
"Perhaps we will go to the ground now..?" My wrist is released and we both adjust ourselves, trying to move past what just could have been. I agree with a short nod, and a hand rubbing the sweat off the back of my neck where it's collected.  
"I will show you the market. Is that okay?" There's not time to answer before he continues- "I promise I will make sure Sahib gives you no trouble." I assume that's the name of the merchant I had made an attempt to steal from, and respond to him with a shrug as he leads me down.  
I continue my attempt to not speak unless absolutely necessary- he seems the type to notice things out of place, and I cannot afford to risk losing his valuable aid over something as stupid as forgetting to mask my voice.  
The topic of "mask" then comes up once more, and I have to wonder again what exactly he looks like, seeing as the majority of his face has remained hidden this entire time. I think to ask, and then realize that would be ignorant, and then think to thank this stranger whose name I do not even know. I decide against the thanks, instead going with finding out his name first.  
After a moments thought, I settle with "Harun," and tell him so- as simply put as "I'm Harun," and an expect face demanding a response.  
Our shoulders are at the same level as we walk through the street, but looking at him I still feel as if I'm gazing towards the sky and I can't tell why this is so. The knowledge that I could have 20 boys just the same as him purchased and laid at my feet is unsettling.  
The fact that I"m just realizing now that those 20 boys would have all have had stories of their own is even more so.

-*-

"Harun." You repeat as if you have to get used to the name on your tongue. Dark eyes look over to the others expectant face and you pause a moment.  
The name of the other seems out of place, yet due to the out of place nature of your own name and the city you live in, you do not say anything.  
"John." You hear your voice saying. "I'm John." 

The boy seems somewhat puzzled by this, yet the expectant look disappears as they continued to walk. The sound and energy from the market came back to John's ears suddenly. A small smile turning up the corner of his mouth. He stopped in the middle of a particularly dirty alley and began to speak once more.  
"There are some implied rules to the market." He began as he crouched and ran his finger in the sand. John drew a small diagram of the market and as soon as the boy catches on he is crouching next to John listening.  
John marked and X. "This is us." He said to the ground and continued to draw a stand and a fee rectangles along the other side of his diagram.  
"Right to the left of us is the butcher's stall. Do not-" John looked up to the boy, "try to steal from him. He will have your hand, with that cleaver of his, in seconds." He looked back down.  
"The stands and shops along here, however, are owned by either kind people or slow witted people."  
John went on to explain which stands would be most easy and which were the cheapest. Which were owned by the cruelest men and the others he avoided completely.  
He broke off into a sudden silence as he glanced up, then back down, and quickly back up again.  
A man with a curious gait was walking down the alley. The man wore a palace guard uniform with a specific pendant informing the world that he was captain. The saber at his side glinted at the top of it's hilt. The cigar between his forefinger and middle was pressed to his lips and John could see the end of it burn red like hell's fire and fall to the ground silently. A cloud of smoke billowed about his head.  
John could tell Harun wanted to move. He did not reject this request the boy did not have to make verbal. The two stood and began walking away, John moving to the other side so Harun was more against the wall and in the shadows. John's head pulsed along with his heart and he prayed to every god that the man would not--  
"Well, well, well." A deep voice cooed as the cigar was flicked away.

Sebastian manages to catch up to you. The boy next to you is forgotten. The ground you are standing on might as well not be there at all. Your breath seems to be wasted and you are suddenly all too aware of a large hand on your shoulder.  
Sebastian ignores the boy next to you as if he is not even there.  
"Johnny boy, let me ask you something." Sebastian says rather lightly as he pushes your shoulder forward as an incentive to take a few steps away from Harun.  
"Are you deaf?" Sebastian asks coldly. You do not answer, your eyes looking away. Sebastian, in his impatience, picks you up by your worn collar and slams you against the stone wall, your feet touching the ground no longer.  
"Are you dead Jonathan?"  
This time you shake your head limply. The strong John Watson that was there merely minutes ago is wiped away. Earlier you took down three guards. Here, you are frozen against one.  
"Of course you're not, no. Hmm." He tilted his head slightly. "Now I know you're just a mangy street rat. But I really did think you had a few brain cells left in there." He tapped John's head with one of his hands.  
Sebastian's face turned cold once more and he ripped down John's hood with a rough hand. "Still wearing that to hide that ugly face of yours?" Sebastian ripped away the scarf before John could protest or resist in anyway.  
The scarf revealing the scars that John had accumulated throughout the years. Some that seemed to blend in with his skin, yet others that stood out as bold and white jagged lines. Sebastian flicked open his own knife.  
"You've already got one strike, Johnny. Don't want to get three now." He set John back on the ground but did not let go of him. He pressed his chin up roughly tho John tried his best to get away. The blade was pressed to the corner of John's jaw and dragged up roughly yet slowly in a straight line. John made a small noise as he arched his neck back. This line of red was carved into John's skin directly next to another white line on the corner of his jaw.  
"I don't want to see your sorry ass anywhere near here again. Understood?" John did not respond, to which Sebastian slammed him against the wall again. "Understand?" John nodded limply and was let go. Sebastian turned his head and took a long look at the other boy, and then sauntered off down the alley. He turned and began to whistle.  
John pressed his scarf lightly against his jaw, remaining silent. 

-*-

We continue walking for some time, in silence, until the sound of the market slowly comes into focus. Just a few streets away John- John, a curious name for a curious boy- stops, squatting and beginning to draw in the sand that coats everything here in a fine layer. I kneel next to him, watching as a diagram somehow appears, with an X showing out positions a bit off from it. John goes on to give information on almost every vendor, and I sit absorbing as much of it as I can- until suddenly he stops. I look up at him, confused to see that he is looking up as well. And then I know.  
A guard my father relies much too heavily on, bringing his company into the palace much too often, is walking down the alleyway. His customary cigar in place, he looks less intimidating when you don't know him. I of course do, having grown up in his presence for half of my life. He's cruel, the type of person to pleasure in harming another. I always avoided him as much as possible, and I am sure that, as John stands and begins walking away, he has tried to do so as well.  
I know for a fact that this guard, whose name is Moran, had once beaten to death a beggar on the streets because the urge came to him, and had avoided any blame. (Of course, no one else knows this, or, knows I know this.) I am praying he will not recognize me when he suddenly speaks. I notice that John flinches just as much as me, and I imagine I am not the only one with this information.  
Of course, it soon becomes apparent that this is not John’s reason for flinching.  
Moran walks towards us, and I lower my head, pressing against the wall but watching him all the while. He doesn’t look to me, but to John.  
Moran places a hand on John’s shoulder, walking him further down the alley. I let out a small breath, just after which John is thrown rather harshly against the wall, being held up by his collar.  
At this point I am frozen, but am listening carefully.  
"Are you dead Jonathan?"  
Silence.  
"Of course you're not, no. Hmm. Now I know you're just a mangy street rat. But I really did think you had a few brain cells left in there."  
Silence. I don’t move, don’t look up, just listen.  
"Still wearing that to hide that ugly face of yours?"  
I look up. Moran is tearing off John’s hood, his scarf, and my mouth is slightly agape. It’s his hair I see first, and is what I react to first. His hair is blond, as light as the sand- a rare color here. The name would make sense if he was an Englishman; but then it would appear he was, and I am stuck trying to figure out what he is, in that case, doing here.  
And then my eyes drift to his face, and it is covered in scars. Huge, thick gashes spread around his face, and faint lines I imagine are just from scratches on the rest. I cannot move my eyes from this- some have gone so deep that the healed skin is raised about the rest, in a pale white colors, whereas other are still deep grooves in his skin, an ugly red that paired with his hair leaves him unmistakable and unforgettable. I understand the scarf.  
I am in awe of his face, when I hear the sound of a knife.  
"You've already got one strike, Johnny. Don't want to get three now." The knife is now on John’s skin. My hand is on my own knife, but I know Moran could snap my neck more easily than I could kill a rat. If I wasn’t dead, it would mean recognition- neither could happen, and so I would not move as long as John’s life was not threatened.  
The keen leaving John’s mouth as the knife was pushed into and dragged up his skin near his jaw almost sets me over. I shake as I do nothing but watch on, and curse myself repeatedly. Blood drips off the edge of the knife as Moran returns it to his belt, my heart threatening to burst. My legs twitch- I don’t know whether the urge was to run away or towards him, but whichever, I was angry and scared, and frozen in place.  
Moran whispers something to John, seemed dissatisfied, and slams John into the wall once more. John nods, Moran turns to leave.  
I haven’t even taken a full step towards John when he turns back around, facing me. Looking at me. I stare back- he recognized me, I am sure. He knows.  
I force myself to swallow, my throat dry. Moran finally leaves, whistling as he goes. You wouldn’t know anything had happened at all if you had been watching him as he makes his way into a main street. John has not moved, sitting crumpled, leaning against the bottom of the wall.  
I rush towards him once I am sure Moran is gone, bending down beside him. For a few moments I do not move, I observe. The gash Moran has just carved into John’s face lies beside another scar, same size, location. The two together look to be tally marks, and I remember Moran’s remark, wondering what happens when John hits three.  
And then I am no longer just looking, I am moving. John seems stunned, and I am stunned as well. However, I am not the one who has just had a knife taken to an already much-abused face, and so I return his scarf and hood to their previous positions, pressing his hand against the cut and making sure he is going to hold it there before drawing my own hand away to help him up.  
We move on the ground, and slowly at that, but we do move. I am taking him towards the building where he lives, we walk directly towards the setting sun.  
I try to focus on John, I actually have to try. However, in the end, I begin to worry. I do not know what Moran will be doing with the information on my whereabouts. I don’t trust him, for good reason, and begin to wonder if he will even tell a member of my family. Perhaps he will force them to pay for the information. Whatever he does, I doubt he will just be telling them outright. That’d be most worrying of all.  
I know that in the end, however, they will be told, and by that time, I need to have had disappeared from this city entirely, or I will be caught.

-*_

The boy comes quickly into my view again and I am suddenly reminded that he has been there the whole time. He crouches down. I turn away slightly. A hand is held out and I look away from it. Harun gently replaces my hood and scarf as I continue to look away. At first I believe he is doing this out of disgust. The memory of the small child shying away from the piece of bread I offered her because the way my scarf had fallen down my face.  
I will never forget the look she gave me.  
But then the moment passes as he takes my hand slowly and pushes it to my cheek where Sebastian had cut me. He waited until the muscles in my arm decided to work once more and I nodded slightly, pushing back on it.  
He only wanted to help. He was not disgusted. Was shocked, yes. There was something else there too that I could not make out.  
We were walking back in the direction of my home and I am slightly surprised that he remembers the way. But then again he seemed to be remembering all I told him.  
We walk, once again, in silence.  
The whole way I do not look at him, but he continues to glance at me from time to time.  
The thought of making the mistake to run directly into Sebastian's routine walk about. I had completely forgotten; the days new activity driving me away from my own routine.  
We are outside of the run down building that is a sorry excuse for my home. I look around slightly, not having to use this entrance in a long time, before I find it. A few loose boards over a hole in the wall are kicked away and I stoop to enter.  
I wait until he follows behind and look up at the staircase in front of me, shifting my feet slightly in the dust. The boy follows and when he is standing in front of me once more.  
"He give me three strikes because he enjoys toying with me in between them." I explain quietly, pulling my hood down and starting to climb the stairs. My need to explain suddenly comes over me once more and I pace on one of the steps in the middle of the winding staircase. I turn slightly, looking at the stone wall. "And I may not be able to read or write or whatever, but i'm not just a mangy street rat."  
I continue up the stairs.

-*-

We're inside the crumbling building, standing in front of crumbling steps- John uses the crumbling wall as support. At the bottom of the stairs, he pauses, looking away from me.  
"He gives me three strikes because he enjoys toying with me in between them." His voice is hushed, and I cannot figure out what the underlying emotion in this case in, but it's there in abundance. I am glad he has told me this, even as it fills me with a cold rage that is the type to lead a man to kill another. John begins up the steps. I follow behind him- his precarious steps are making me wonder if he is going to fall, and so I am prepared to catch him should this occur.  
In the middle of the steps, he comes to a stop, and I am worried the staircase will collapse beneath us if we stand still any longer than a moment. His head turns towards the wall, not facing me but closer.  
"And I may not be able to read or write or whatever, but I'm not just a mangy street rat." He doesn't move for a moment more, then starts up the stairs at a faster pace than before. I set a hand on his shoulder, softly, barely there. It's enough that he stops again just a few stairs higher than the middle.  
"I know." My hand is shrugged off and he skips steps the small rest of the way up, pulling back a worn curtain hanging in front of a missing section in the wall roughly. It's dark at this point, but the city can be seen lit brightly, the stars almost less grand in comparison. I think it's beautiful, but John doesn't look twice, instead walking to another end of the room to light a lamp, and I assume it's because he has likely seen the view a countless number of times before.  
I watch as he moves to a pallet on the floor, and I can now see that blood has stained the corners of the scarf. He doesn't seem to be concerned with this but I am. The cuts need cleaned. Perhaps the scars would be lighter if they were.  
He gestures to a pallet across the room, seeing me standing in the middle staring at him. I shake my head without speaking, walking towards him and sitting down in front of him.  
I push back the hood, unwrap the scarf. It needs to be pulled- gently, obviously- from the wounds, having had stuck as the blood dried. The blood had run down his neck and dried as an ugly flaking rust, that I brush off as well as I can from his neck ignoring any sounds of protest as I do so. I spit into the hem of my shirt and clean the actual cuts with that, as careful as I can be with the necessary amount of force to get the dried blood off the surface of the skin without irritating the actual wound once more. I stop when I hear him hiss, drawing back and looking down at my now stained shirt with indifference to the stated fact.  
There's a silence and I look back up to see him staring at me with an odd look on his own face. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn't. John simply stands, walking to blow out the lamp, careful not splatter the oil with a practiced ease, and then laying down on the pallet he'd gestured for me to sleep on. I am still sitting on what I assume is his regular one, but shrug and lay down to sleep myself.  
A few minutes have passed, and I hear him shift, a muffled sigh sounding. I take a breath, considering, before sitting up and moving slowly towards him. I assume he can only see an outline of my figure as I can only see that of his.  
Once I am in front of him I bend down and stare to be able to focus on the details of his face. It hits me that he's beautiful, and so I bend down and kiss the cheek of his unmasked face.  
I don't wait to see how he is going to react, instead moving immediately back to my pallet and sitting with my head hanging between my drawn up knees and listen carefully.  
Eventually I do finally lay back down, falling asleep almost as soon as I do. 

-*-

Suddenly the world ceases to turn as the boy sits down in front of you. At first you think it is because he wants to talk or maybe something else that your mind cannot process at the moment. Just having someone this close on its own is a rarity. The want to reach out and touch him comes over you. You almost do it. You get half way to the point of even making the decision to raise your arm, when he raises both of his own. You stop immediately. Frozen as he takes the hem of your hood and shifts it of the rest of your face. The scarf that you had relied on to hide your terribly scarred face is removed gently and for a moment you recognize this as the gentlest movement that has ever brushed your skin.  
He moves to your neck and brushes off the rusted over blood from your gash that you had planned on ignoring. Your head leans in the opposite direction slightly as a signal that he did not have to, a sound rising from your throat that sounds like a protest that is never truly verbalized. Harun is rubbing your cut gently, yet firmly if that could be achieved through genteelness, with the end of his shirt. He eventually does get passed the dried blood and a sharp noise escapes your lips as he rubs across the wound.  
He moves his hand away and looks down at his now stained shirt.  
Your eyes watch him. You wonder how soft his hair really is. You wonder if that is the first amount of blood that he has ever seen on himself and his fingers where the dried blood had flaked off.  
This is the first time you can remember being touched by someone and not have the tingling feeling of pain enclose around you. You never wanted touch before; you chase away from it on a daily basis, but now it is different. This is a new kind of touch that you are not used to. A touch that leaves your cheeks warm and your neck yearning for those same fingers to graze across your skin once more. You blink slowly, unable to look away.  
The boy looks up and you are suddenly able to look away once more as he raises an eyebrow at you.  
You stand and move to blow out the candle, a gesture practiced a thousand times every night. You sit on the pallet opposite of him, not realizing you had given him your own, and lay yourself down quickly.  
Minutes pass and you are still awake, staring at your calloused hands and wondering how the boy keeps his so soft. You sigh, thinking about how your hands got to be that way and turn over.  
The boy sits up from across the room. He stands and walks. You look up slightly, wondering if he is leaving when you see that he is coming towards you. You look up at him in slight wonder as he stares down at you with a light expression. The moonlight hit's his face and at that same time you realize he is beautiful.  
And then he bends down and kisses you on the cheek, directly where one of your most noticeable scars are located. It is not a moment later that he is gone and back to his own pallet to lay himself down. 

I sit there frozen. Did he just kiss me? Dirty me that isn't worth a damn? My heart thuds in my chest and swells at the thought of this boy. I suddenly, very much so, want him to stay.  
An hour has passed and I am still up, laying there with my two fingers outlining the scar where he kissed.  
I sit up, stand, and move quietly to the other side of the room. I kneel next to the sound asleep boy, and kiss his forehead gently as to not wake him. I shift slightly on the stone ground, and lay a mere foot away from him. As close as I am allowing myself to get. I close my eyes, and suddenly I am asleep.

-*-

I'm awake, but I don't open my eyes. I'm not even aware of the fact that I'm awake until I roll over and sunlight blares into my closed eyes through the lids, and I'm wondering why it's so bright and so hot and where's my bed and-  
Oh. Remembering where I am lifts the weight of dread off my chest and I willingly open my eyes, staring straight into the face of John, who had, apparently, at some point in the night had moved beside me and I have to wonder when and why. I'm relieved, however, that he is not angry- or at least, I don't think he is. I highly doubt he'd have slept next to me if he was.  
John lets out a breath, and my focus returns to his face. He really is beautiful. Sunlight is dancing on his eyelashes and he appears peaceful, even as his eyebrows remain in a position suggesting concern. I doubt they ever don't, the crease between then has likely been there for too many years at too young an age to leave his face now.  
I study the entirety of his face, trying to hold in as many details of it that I can- I don't know when I'll have to leave- but I will have to do so eventually. The plan had been to find enough supplies just to be able to last if I joined with a caravan, and then go from whatever city I ended up in.  
I hadn't anticipated there being any reason to want to stay, and I want to remember that reason if I do go. I pull myself closer towards him, at the point that I can see his eyes flicking under his eyelids.  
He's awake too then. I consider backing up so that he doesn't open his eyes to a face almost pressed into his own, but there's no chance for me to follow through.  
His eyes slowly open, John sees me immediately (- how could he not?) Neither of us move, instead both laying bathed in morning sunlight and staring directly into the other's eyes.  
We stay like that, content, until my stomach decides its gone close enough to being empty and roars into the silence. The corner of John's mouth curls into a smile looking onto my horrified face.  
"Might want to take care of that." He sits up, and I try to mirror, but collapse again with a tired sigh and roll over.  
"..Don't need to eat..." I mutter it half to myself, during which time my stomach speaks up again, and I groan as I comply and begin to stand. John is tucking items into his clothes as I take things out. The pouch with the money and necklaces won't be needed, I suspect, as well as my crudely drawn attempts to map out the city. I set them next to the small lamp, pulling my knife from under my shirt and strapping it to my belt where it would be a lot more useful.  
I look to John, he nods as he pulls up his hood, and we set off.  
It's late morning by the time we get to the market, and I swear it's even more full than yesterday. John seems jumpy, and I try not to feel as comfortable as I do.  
I should technically have no knowledge of Moran's schedule, as either Harun or myself. But I do, and so I know he's not going to be here today. Usually today would be a meeting with my father and other activities either within the palace or his own residence- where that is, however, I am not sure. Any attempts to track him had only ever showed him going somewhere to get mindlessly drunk, or to a brothel. My father has a wonderful taste in guards.  
John turns to a ladder leaning against the back of a house- he beckons for me to go up.  
"Watch." I nod and climb, the roof of the house overlooking the market. I can see John clearly, weaving his way through people expertly before perching himself near a stall. I recall it as being one he'd pointed out as one of the easier stalls to grab quick food from.  
The vendor begins speaking to someone and John starts picking up and looking at the fruits on the counter, occasionally rubbing them against his shirt as to clean them, but when he'd return them to the counter each time there'd be one less than he had before.  
The vendor pauses and looks to John, and he must have noticed as he left immediately after, but not hurried. Just another person trying to get things done before the sun was at its highest.  
I climb down the ladder, impressed, as he walks towards me, holding five dates and a small melon, which I am in awe of, not even seeing him take that- and I was watching for it.  
He laughs, and hands me two dates, which I suck down eagerly.  
"Now- you try." I pause, look up at him. "I'll be here, and if you think you will be seen, move somewhere else." His tone is encouraging, and so I simply nod and walk into the square. I turn back and see he is already on the roof, watching.  
My eyes flick towards where Sahib had been set up yesterday, and seeing as the spot is empty I assume he is not here, doubting John would have even sent me out if he had been.  
I think back to what he had been explaining yesterday, and move towards a stall that had been pointed out.  
-And then I here a voice call out my name, and freeze. I don't know if I had just imagined it, until it sounds again, closer, and I recognize it as being a member of my father's council, one that I despised almost as much as the man he worked for.  
I try to blend in, sliding quickly around people trying to get into an empty street, when a hand brushes my shoulder and tries to grab my shirt, and I break into a full sprint, pushing past people in the most complicated path I can create, until I'm in an alley I don't recognize, and continue running straight down it until I am around the corner, leaning against a wall and trying to catch my breath. I assume he had not bothered following me, unless there had been some reward or something of the sort already issued.  
I honestly had not expected my absence to be noted for a few days, at least, but I am now unsure- and nervous. Two people have recognized me, and I am still unable to leave the city. I do not want to leave the city.  
Sitting down on the ground, I sigh, and try to think up an excuse for when John catches up to me.

-*-

I perch myself on top of the roof and watch the boy as he hesiantly makes his way through the crowd of people. I let my mind wander as my eyes watch him.  
I think to ask him where he is from; yet since he has not even brought up anything near the topic of his personal life, I decide against this. That same urge to reach out and touch him had come over me once more when i had woken up to those piercing eyes. Thousands of times I had almost reached out to stroke his soft looking face.  
A feeling had started to come over me. One I had not felt in quiet some time. It frightened me and I looked down for a moment and shifted at the thought of it. I was growing attached to this stranger. This boy who had come into my life so suddenly and affected me so strongly that it is as if I was breathing for the first time.  
Trust was not a thing I could accept. It never ceased to disappoint. It never ceased to take away from any social contact I may be graced with coming across.  
This frightened me.  
But perhaps I would give it a chance. 

That chance was suddenly snuffed out of me as the boy suddenly jerked to look behind him. My head lifted and I leaned forward attentively. Suddenly, without another moments hesitation, the boy sprinted off. My heart drops and falls to the ground far below me. I scanned the crowd quickly, at first figuring it was Sahib or Sebastian. Yet all I see is a palace guard turning around with a shrug and a slight shake of his head.  
I rush to assure myself this is why he ran. He saw the guard and was feeling jumpy and ran and panicked because he was alone.  
I jumped and landed on a ledge and then swung myself off and into the crowd of people. Some shouted at me as I bumped into them but I could not hear them.  
My mind scrambles and battles with itself. The side that was scaring me the most eventually winning over.  
He had ran away from me. Of course he had. He had barely spoken more than three words to me and I had thought he wanted to stay as much as me. I let him touch me and he runs away. What a fool I am. A complete fool an idiot and nothing worthy of anything like that boy.  
My jaw clenches and my eyes water over as I take off into a mindless sprint through the market. My thoughts screaming in my head and the demons of loneliness that have plagued my nightmares for seventeen years enclose around me and I feel like i'm going to suffocate. I stop outside an opening to an alley suddenly and look inside it. The boy is standing there staring back at me.  
There is a very long silence as we continue to stare and suddenly I can stand it no longer.  
"Stop staring and say something!" I shout louder than I mean to. I shut my mouth after this as he looks as though he's scrambling for an excuse and I turn to leave. 

-*-

John rounds the corner, his hood fallen down while running I assume, and is here before I come up with an idea. I decide to vaguely tell him about the man- until I see his face.  
He's upset, and mad, and scared, but he mostly he just looks hurt, and I don't know why. I'd expected curious, confused, maybe irritated, but no- it's hurt. I feel like I should apologize, even though I'm not sure what for.  
Neither of us move, we just stare, and I try to think of something to say desperately- I don't understand, my head is spinning and I am confused, until I finally understand.  
I hadn't considered it before, but I'm starting to think he has been alone his entire life. I don't know his story- although it's clearly much more interesting than my own- but I think, you'd get lonely. And maybe I got his hopes up, and then I was running away. He certainly hadn't seen any other reason for my departure, the man who had recognized me was just a man like any other.  
It makes sense, and I assume this is why John is so upset. And then guilt washes over me as I realize he was this panicked- and I have only known him a day. What will he do after I leave? I form words in my head, finally knowing what I need to say, until-  
"Stop staring and say something!" This serves only to stun me into silence, but that it does well. My mind is tripping and my mouth is moving but nothing comes out.  
John is mad at me.  
He yelled at me. He screamed.  
I upset him, he was upset, and it's only been a day.  
He turns to leave before I form a single word, and then finally I can speak during the following wave of panic.  
"John- I- stop, please, wait-" He pauses, not facing me, and I take a breath and continue.  
"I wasn't, leaving- there was just, a man, he knew me, tried to grab me- I couldn't stay. Alright? John, John, I swear- I was waiting here so you could catch up, please-" My voice cracks and cuts off and I hate how desperate I sounds but it matches how desperate I actually am. John is still facing away from me, but he is looking back over his shoulder and I can barely make out his face as he has already put his hood back up. I step towards him, and he still doesn't move- and then the sound of running footsteps fades in and I can see who it is and it's him, and I panic.  
My instinct reaction is to flee but I don't want to leave John again, and I turn back from the ever closer man to him, wordlessly begging for him to get me away from this man please now hurry, and he does.  
His hand is around my hand and he pulls me around the side of a building to a spot where the outer layer of the house is peeling and the bricks are exposed. Using these spots as footholds John helps me up, and then follows himself.  
He starts running and I follow closely, just wanting to evade the man before he calls out my name once more.  
John is leading me somewhere I haven't been, this part of the city new to me. The houses are lower, but not as small as the others, and it seems overall largely abandoned in this area.  
John still runs, even though we have long since lost the man. He appears distracted, and I have to wonder exactly what he could be thinking  
about. John is still a mystery to me, as much as I'd like to know him, it might not be a good idea to learn too much.  
My own thoughts are wondering when John stops, and I almost run into him. He is peering towards the middle section of the house, which is opened- the actual house is a hollow square with the open center being used as a large garden. -Was used. The garden is overgrown and abandoned, bursting with beautiful flowers and stringing vines in a variety we did not even have in the palace.  
In the center there is a small screened area shaped in a circle, only large enough for a few people to enter at a time.  
I've only been staring down, likely appearing in awe, until John slides down into the garden. I follow loyally, accompanying him into the screens.  
Inside he stops, and turns to me. The midday sun is shining through the patterned holes and matching those patterns on his face. I want to touch him, want all of him. John is beautiful, and I don't want to leave.

-*-

I run fast ahead of him. The sound of my feet hitting the ground drowning out the other sounds so I can think.  
He hadn't run away from me.  
He hadn't and once again I was leading him far away from the trouble I did not understand that he was in. I am frustrated with myself. Frustrated with my broken conscience and pathetic separation and trust issues.  
For a while I forget the boy is behind me. I do not look back at all during this run. My anger dims slowly inside of me as I run. I decide where I will take him even tho we have already lost the man running after Harun.  
We stop at the garden that I had spent several years of my childhood hiding away in. I slide down quietly from where we are perched and walk towards the beautiful screened area. The memory of watching a couple stroll in as if they were on a cloud containing them and them alone floats into my mind and recall wondering how they could look so peaceful and lovely in a place like Agrabah.  
My feet take us to the screened area and I stop, looking down to my feet and thinking a moment.  
I look up at Harun and am driven to silence as once again I am struck with how handsome he is.  
"I'm sorry.. I yelled." I start and look down once more, shifting slightly. "I just.. I was afraid you were leaving me and didn't want to.. be here, like I thought you did. And uhm.." I pull down my scarf absently and rub my chin. "Not many people really stick around with me. It's just that being alone for as long as I can remember tends to get to you.." I break off into a lapse of silence until i decide to keep going. "And I am very happy that you--"  
I stop abruptly as the boy suddenly leans into me closely and kissed me on the lips. My eyes are blown wide and i stiffen for a moment. The wide eyes roll shut and I lean back into him, body slackening. The urge to touch rushes over me once more and this time I accept it and place a hand on his hip, my thumb rubbing their slightly. We break off and I look up at him and he looks back.  
He is warm and wonderful and he smells like the morning sun and I want nothing more than him. My hand comes up slowly and my thumb brushes against his soft lips. It trails across his cheek and I lean in once more with a kiss that is more wanting than the last.

-*-

John is talking to me, apologizing, confirming my suspicions- and then I can't take it anymore. I move towards him, press my lips onto his. -John tenses, for a moment, and then kisses me back, placing his hand onto my hip. I am filled with bliss, wanting to close my eyes but not wanting John out of my sight. I watch him, as he pulls away. He looks just as dazed as I feel, reaching towards my face and letting his hand come to rest on my cheek. I smile, he kisses me once more.  
He is beautiful and this is beautiful and I want him and he is giving me that, right now. He pulls me closer and I fall towards him, wrapping my arms around him and closing my eyes at last. I am touching John and I am consumed by John and John.  
I do not know how long it is until we pull away, just for a moment, before I want him back into my arms and he the same and we are both obliged to do so, holding the other close to themselves and resting on the tiled floor in this room, leading back against on of the walls, wrapped in one another. Sunlight dances in and I trace John's scars with one hand lightly, loving every last one of them and loving him. This, now, is sweet like honey and I can almost taste it on my tongue. It is golden, John is golden, I trace all of his scars twice before he speaks.  
"Harun- can I, who was that man?"  
"Who?"  
"The one that had followed you."  
"Oh." I don't respond immediately, considering my wording and checking it carefully before I speak. "He worked with my father."  
"Where is your father?"  
"I'd assume where I left him." I pause again before I am willing to continue. "He was, not good. To me- ..anyone." I frown, thinking of the last fifteen years of my life minus two days, and John hushes me and shakes his head. I don't need to continue.  
"What about you? Your father?" John doesn't answer immediately either. I wait patiently, I would wait til the ends of the earth for him, I imagine. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. 

-*-

Harun traces my scars with his thumb and forefinger. I watch him as he does this, my arm around his waist and his other feeling the material of my cloak between his fingers. The fingers trailing across my scars makes them feel like they could recede back into my skin and vanish completely. I am overwhelmed with how wonderful this feels. How spectacularly blissful it is to have him here sitting with me and allowing myself to love him and him to possibly do the same. He repeats the stroking with his hand once more before my curiosity drove me to speech once more.  
I ask who the man was and Harun replies with telling me he works for his father and that his father is a man that drives Harun's voice to shake slightly. I hush him and rub my hand slightly against his waist, shaking my head.  
"What about you? Your father?"  
I pause and look down momentarily as I search for a point to start. I look back up at him and sigh slightly. "I don't know who my father is, really.  
I must have been very small when I came here, because I don't believe I have any family at all. None that care to come and find me at least. Someone once said I was ripped away from my parents. Someone else said they gave me away." I shrug and look down once more. "I remember the old lady that had told me she saw my parents and my blond hair. How she had said they had been murdered brutally and how I had cried for hours before a woman had picked me up and taken me to some place I don't remember..." The city had talked about me for more than a month, a long period of gossip in a city like this. I look to him once more.  
"I don't know..what it's like to have anything." A small and rare smile passes my lips. "I am happy with you." 

-*-

John, within a few moments, does explain. I am glad he did. I am not glad, however, to hear that he has literally been alone his entire life.  
When he smiles, says he is happy with me, I feel as if I am going to melt. I do, into him. I hold him to me as if letting go means he will be gone forever, and I hold him there for a long time, a hand against the back of his head, fingers twined in his golden hair. The sun is gold and John is gold, the moment is gold and I can definitely taste honey. 

The next week is a blur of theft and kisses, of John keeping me afloat and carefree and I can't imagine not being with him, can't remember how I was living before.  
I wasn't. John brings me life and I am grateful and consumed and so distracted but how could I be when the only thing to focus on is John?  
I consider telling him, many times, who I am and I want to tell him but I can't, and I don't know why something is stopping me but it is.  
John had poured so much of himself onto me in those days and I know him and I know that he will be upset, he will feel deceived and I couldn't hurt him, I couldn't. 

Twelve days pass, and then it is the night before that we go further. We had barely left the house the entire day, instead sitting in windowsills and laughing and loving. The day is over but we are not exhausted as we usually are, or even tired.  
It starts as nothing extraordinary, simply what had become usual in that week. And then we're giggling on the floor, and I roll on top of John and kiss him again. I can not get enough of his lips, and then I want more.  
I am still lying on him, but now my hands are slipping up under his shirt and my kisses are more hurried and frantic. I whisper his name, a question. 

-*-

The week seems to rush by in a blur full of happiness that I have never known. This boy that had come into my life so suddenly has consumed me entirely and I seem to not be worried by this at all.  
In the back of my mind the wall of worry began to build inside me, waiting for a day that might send it crashing down.  
But today was not that day and I was as happy as ever. Harun and I were out on a tall ledge above the market place, our legs dangling off the side. My one bent up with an arm resting over it. Harun took a bite from his apple and I leant over and bit into the other side, taking a large chunk and successfully tearing the apple away from him. This earned a shove and a dramatic sigh on Harun's part. We decide to go back to the house where we had spent all but the hour it took to grab an apple or two for Harun. 

The sun has set and me and Harun had sat ourselves down on the floor where we talked until I had become too consumed with his lips to talk anymore. It was simple and wonderful and my heart felt more and more full with each kiss he granted me and each touch I was allowed to trail across his warm skin. But then we fall back and are giggling like children and Harun is on top of me.  
The air seems to change as he leans against me and kisses me once more. His hands trail up my shirt and my heart skips a beat. The kisses have become more essential and I can feel myself leaning my torso up so we would meet in the middle each time he pulls away.  
My name leaves his lips in a breathy question against my neck. He lifts his head and we watch each other for a moment. I lean up once more and kiss him again, nodding my head slowly against his cheek as we break away.  
This kissing continues once more, us seeming to have felt a new need rush over each other. My hands trail up the back of his shirt and trail up his spine, stopping Harun's motions for a moment as he seems to fall into me at this. I repeat this motion and kiss his neck as my hands move to take off his shirt for him. Harun moves slightly so I can do so and he does the same for me, me lifting my arms over my head for him. They are thrown away somewhere in the room i barely think once about as he arches into me. Our skin meets and I swear at that moment we are on fire. My hands trail to his shoulder and lower back. He shifts his hips almost on accident against mine and a small moan that I could not stop leaves my lips. The bottom of which I bite immediately after. 

-*-

Our shirts come off, our hands both running desperately over the other. I lean over John, my lips brush his neck- I am filled with lust, a fire consuming me with flames demanding to be fed. I do not intend to disappoint.  
I shift to a better position, John groans. I shift my hips back experimentally, and I get a quick breath in return.  
A sharp turn is taken as suddenly I am grinding against John and he is panting, but the fire grows still and I slip my hands under the waist of his pants and start to work them off, never ceasing movement as I do so.  
My own are off soon after, and it is as that point that there is no stopping. I move back, leaning over him and taking his length in my mouth- he moans and I only run the length of his shaft a few times, pushing against the bottom. His breath is ragged, and I decide it's good enough, pulling up with my tongue lingering under his head just a bit longer than necessary.  
There is precum in my mouth and I don't mind as I position myself over him- it takes a few frustrating tries until John's throbbing member is inside of me, but as soon as it is I am filled with an entirely new feeling, and it is strange but I like it.  
John is rocking under me and I am moving with him. I am panting now and my heart is racing and I am so full with pleasure and with John and there's barely a difference at this point.  
I am lost now and I don't mind that I can't find the path, don't mind that ecstasy leaves me unable to speak or even think and that the only thing I can see is the gorgeous boy laying under me. Sparks are running through every nerve in my body and I am still moving over John but I don't know how, John is in me and I love it and him and he is rubbing in just the right way and I will not last much longer until the fire consumes me completely.

-*-

Harun suddenly grinds against me and my body threatens to explode from all of the sensation that comes across me and burns me alive. My mouth drops and my breathing hitches, hips lifting up to circle back against him. I do not even realize until the last moment that he has somehow been able to work my pants off without stopping for a second. I do not get to think about how he is as perfect and amazing as he is before his mouth suddenly envelopes me. I moan loudly, back arching slightly as he moves up and down. The last of a movements lingering and I pant out his name.  
The moment I am inside of him I seem to lose myself entirely. My breathing is coming out in sharp gasps and so is Harun's as my hips thrust into him and he shifts back into me. My pace quickens as the moments fly by and Harun makes a small noise that goes straight through my spine. My hand moves quickly and takes his own length in my hand, moving in time with my hips. My feet are against the ground and a keen leaves my mouth. Harun bends over against me, his chest just barely against mine. I place my other arm around his back and hold him gently against me and kiss his neck. Another noise as I can feel myself pushing against the edge. "H-Harun--" I pant out against his ear and quicken my strokes and thrusts until I am thrown off the cliff of oblivion. I moan loudly as I cum inside Harun and suddenly my stomach is more slick than it was moments ago. 

-*-

I come at the same time as John, perhaps a few moments after. His breath hitches once more and he jerked and thrusted farther than before and it is perfect, and white dances in my vision and I am gone, there is a fire starting in my stomach that spreads to the ends of every limb with a beautiful buzz, leaving me dizzy and breathless against him.  
We come to our senses after, I pull away carefully and lay on top of him- his stomach is covered with cum and I am full with it. I am kissing him slowly and carefully, over the entire  
length of his body and not stopping until I am at his neck. I bite down gently, sucking just a moment before I am at his lips and he kisses me as well now, both our bodies slick with sweat and cum and curling around each other with a craving, a need for absolute contact.  
Eventually I am simply laying on him and we are both content with that, neither of us yet cleaned up or dressed. My head rests on his chest and I listen to the slow beat of his heart, and I belong to John and John belongs to me and for once I am happy. Moonlight plays on the edge's of John's face, and I am again struck with this english boy's beauty, and I wonder why I get to have him, why not someone else?  
I am not ungrateful, of course- I just cannot be deserving of what John has given me. I nestle my head into the crook of his neck and whisper into darkness.  
"I love you."

-*-

Harun trails kisses against my body and my breathing slows. My heart slows as well and I take a deep breath. The first calm thought that comes over me is that this is the happiest I have been in a very, very long time. He lays himself contently against me and I wrap my arms around him once more, hand running up and down his back slowly.  
How on this now wonderful earth had Harun entered my life? How was I suddenly so deserving of him. Waiting for years for something I did not know; and now I had found it. It was Harun. I was his. He was mine. And I--  
"I love you." Harun whispers against my neck.  
I pause and blink down at him. A smile spreads across my lips and I kiss the top of his head affectionately.  
"I love you too." I whisper back.

The world is suddenly complete. I feel as tho air has finally entered my lungs. That I am seeing this boy for the first time and that time has started ticking for the days ahead that I can be with him. I want and need nothing more than Harun.  
I hum a low song, my cheek against his forehead as I hold him close against me. I shift Harun up against me. He seems to want to stay awake but I hush him quietly, rubbing my chin against his head. He inquires something about cleaning us up and I tell him to not worry about it.  
eventually he ends up drifting to sleep in my arms and I move him gently off of me to clean both of us up and replace both of our pants to our body. I grab a blanket from across the room and wrap us around it, my head leaning against his shoulder as my eyes drifted closed.

-*-

I wake up in John's arms, curled around him clothed in only my pants. The morning is sweet and I open my eyes as soon as I pull from sleep and remember that I can, not wanting to miss a moment of this.  
Everything has been cleaned up, our shirts folded and ourselves safe under a blanket. I can't remember cleaning anything and so it had to be John, and the thought of him had me smiling and I notice John is looking at me.  
"What are you so smiley about?" But he's smiling himself, why wouldn't we smile?  
"About you." The smiles widen and I don't want to move ever again, to not let time pass on from this moment because how could something this beautiful cease to exist, forever?  
It's still brisk outside from the night, a breeze carries the sharp air inside the room and I feel goosebumps raising on my arms. I pull John closer, wrapping around him and them deciding no, and then wrapping him around me. This is better, I nuzzle into John's chest and sigh contently. No, this moment shouldn't pass. I won't allow it.  
-The sun grows higher in the sky and eventually yes, the moment does pass. It quickly grows too hot to stay under the blanket, and we climb out to get dressed, grab a few things, and head towards the market once again.  
It is a lazy stroll, not on rooftops but on the ground. We walk hand in hand, shoulders brushing the entire way there. I point things out about people living in certain houses or shops, having walked past enough times in this week to have figured out a lot. It seems obvious, but nonetheless John is impressed, and I can't help but gloat.  
We are just a small length from the market when it happens.  
Leaning against the wall of an alley, only talking and laughing- we wait until the market is the busiest to take anything.  
We don't get the chance. There's the sound of footsteps, a large number, and when we see the guards walking the main street I assume it is just a patrol.  
I don't panic until I see who is at the end of the procession; it is Mycroft and Moran, walking side by side. I am frozen, holding on to John's shoulder as he stares as well. They don't notice us immediately, most walking past. It's Moran who pauses, turns, squints, and then calls his men back over.  
I am the one to pull John up onto a roof this time, pulling him along and running as quickly as I can. The guards manage to keep up from the ground, and I don't know where I am going, trying to get lost just to loose them in backstreets and dead ends and all the likes, but John and I are running out of steam, we can't run forever.  
At the slightest slowing, it's ended. The guards are up the roof and surrounding us and we try to fight, but there's too many and in the end we are both held apart by the guards, Moran standing in front of John and Mycroft in front of me.  
The look on my brother's face gives me chills, and I eventually turn from him to John. We are manhandled the entire way to the ground, and it is wordlessly that the guards holding John turn the opposite way as those holding me.  
It's this that snaps me out of it, that makes me realize I am being separated from John and brought back and-  
"No!" It's not a yell but a snarl. I rip myself out of the guards' grip and onto John, clinging to him as he does to me. There are attempts to pry us apart- but we are scared and screaming and kicking and they don't succeed until Moran steps in and punches John, and he crumples to the ground and I scream as the guards take that moment to grab us again, holding us apart with grips that are more than firm, and we are both fighting to get to the other and I don't know when it began but suddenly I am crying, little progress is made in attempting to drag us in either direction and I can see Mycroft, frustrated and irritable, leaning against one of the walls and waiting this out. I hate him as I hate my father in my moment, and I scream again and John finally yells 'Harun'- and then it stops.  
Moran turns to look at me, even Mycroft looks up, and the air is still until Moran begins laughing, and I want to kill him.  
"You- you mean, he didn't- Oh, this is too good." He's wiping his eyes and I want to die, whereas John appears utterly confused.  
"Little Johnny thought he had a friend, didn't he? Johnny, did you even stop to question who this boy even is?" Silence is the response, and Moran continues.  
"Well then I'll have to fill you in on a little secret- This here? This is not Harun, oh no, this is the sultan's son, Sherlock. You've heard of him, I'm sure."  
John looks to me and I can see he is still confused, trying to grasp what exactly is happening. I shake my head, don't listen to him, not a word.  
"And you thought he actually liked you, didn't ya? You thought he was doing something other than using you- you probably thought he actually cared. You're nothing but a street rat, and you imagined royalty had viewed you as anything other than a servant?" John is crying and I scream-  
"Shut up! You bastard, shut up! John- don't listen to him, he's lying! John, please!" I am struggling and sobbing and screaming and kicking, but John hangs limp and still, he appears horrified.  
"Right. We're going. Nice meeting you all." Mycroft is off the wall and waling towards where the palace lies, looming heavily over the city. I am still screaming, trying to get to John, but John still does not move. He is limp, allowing himself to simply be dragged away.  
We turn a corner and John is out of my sight, and my screaming now is directed at Mycroft.  
"You monster! I hate you, how could you?! I hate you, let me go, let go of me!" Mycroft only sighs in response.  
"Please don't make more of a scene than is necessary, little brother."  
I spit on him, he wipes it off. Another sob rips itself from my mouth, and I cannot fight more, I simply cry as we enter the gates and up the path, the great doors opening and the guards dropping me inside.  
I don't move from a heap on the cold floor immediately, curling up and sobbing even though I wish I could stop.  
Eventually I do begin to sit up, and then I see my father is standing just a few feet away from my. I am afraid, I raise my arms against him and take a small breath as he steps towards me, trying to prepare for his wrath.

-*-

Harun grabs my hand and suddenly we are scrambling up the wall and  
away from Sebastian and the guards and-- Prince Mycroft?  
This observation, thought I would not know it yet, was the first blow in a beating I would never recover from.  
We sprint across rooftop after rooftop and ledge after ledge until even I can feel myself slow and the chorus of clanging swords and stomping boots against the ground catch up to us. I cannot kick or  
punch or even bite enough to prevent them from slamming us on the hard ground and off the rooftop once more. I am stunned for a moment before realizing they are trying to take me away from Harun.  
Both of us manage to break away from the large hands. My arms wrap around Harun and his around me. I bury my head into the crook of his  
neck; absolutely petrified that they will take me away from him.  
They are not successful in pilling us away at first. The hands trying to pry our screaming and kicking bodies seem to only be grabbing at me. There is an impatient grunt and suddenly the ground is rushing to meet me. My hold loosens as the blow connects with my face, Harun screams, and suddenly we are separated once more. Harun is crying and the world is collapsing under me. He shouts out my name and struggles as we inch away slowly in opposite directions.  
It is as if a knife is being stuck into my gut. Slowly pushing in. I wriggle and kick and somewhere in this chaos I scream out Harun's name as a desperate sob.

The air suddenly ceases it's movement and all are frozen with it.  
Confusion begins to trickle into me and suddenly Sebastian is doubled over with laughter as he makes the connection.  
"You-You mean he didn't- Oh, this is too good!"  
I stop wriggling and look up at him in confusion.  
"Little Johnny thought he had a friend, didn't he? Johnny, did you even stop to question who this boy even is?" Sebastian laughs once again and my eyebrows furrow, I look to Harun searchingly as to what this madman could be saying. I am stopped from even opening my mouth as Sebastian leans over me.  
"Well then I'll have to fill you in on a little secret- This here? This is not Harun, oh no, this is the sultan's son, Sherlock. You've heard of him, I'm sure." I am suddenly sent spiraling as I continue to stare at the boy across from me, not believing a word of it until he continues on even more."And you thought he actually liked you, didn't ya? You thought he was doing something other than using you- you probably thought he actually cared." There are tears in my eyes and I am shaking my head.  
"You're nothing but a street rat, and you imagined royalty had viewed you as anything other than a servant?" Tears are running down my face and I don't want to believe it. Harun or Sherlock or whoever he was was screaming and telling me not to believe it, not a word of it. I struggle for even a thought as my arms are tugged once more and I don't even try to fight.  
The past weeks fly through my head. All of those times I had gotten food for him just because he had asked. Stole things to impress him and to see his face light up each time I would do so. How his voice was so demanding the first time I met him and how he had run away from me that first time and how he had a horrible father and how Prince  
Mycroft was dragging him away and Sebastian laughing in my face.  
I had been fooled by Sherlock Holmes. The boy I had heard so much about. Sherlock the master actor. Sherlock the reckless boy who had tried to escape the palace several times. Who had said he loved a street rat and used him and his heart.  
I grow limp as tears continue to flow down my face. The boy continues to yell my name and does not stop fighting until Sebastian and his guards have dragged me around a corner and I can see nothing of the boy or his brother.  
My new life that I had been so foolish to think I could achieve had suddenly been murdered in front of me as if it were an actual person.  
The guards are laughing and pulling hard at my wrists. "I wonder what that little brat got it to do for him? Do you think he danced? How much food do you think it gave up for him?" Suddenly my humanity has been struck away from me as well. I am not longer a human but and it and I do not bring myself to disagree. I am a street rat with no home and no one. Not a person that breaths or  
thinks or could feel. No one else saw me that way, so it must be true.  
The air that had felt so new and golden was taken away form my lungs and replaced with something I did not want there. It was simply essential now. Nothing I wanted. My body only needed it. Not me.

I am thrown into a dark cell after being dragged down the stairs even tho I try to stand in the process. A guard kicks my stomach and has me  
get up and move into the dark room. I am shoved against a wall and my hands are chained above me. I look down but my chin is suddenly yanked  
up as Sebastian Moran peers into my eyes and smiles hungrily.  
"And that's strike three there, Johnathan." His knife is out in the next instant and I am crying once more. He drags the knife across my skin  
even deeper than the last and I whimper and hang my head as he lets go. I am sobbing into the darkness and I don't care who hears me.  
I loved him.  
I still love him.  
I will always love him.

I sob until there is nothing left in me. My head leans back against the cold wall and I am barely conscious from the guards coming in and  
periodically taking turns taunting me and beating me as a form of their 'watch time.'  
After what seems like an eternity the door opens once more, and a man not dressed in a guards uniform steps in. He cocks his head but I do  
not look up directly at him.  
"Well, well. What a sorry mess you are." He purrs and smiles into the darkness.

-*-

My father bends over me and I look away, my eyes are already shut as I am pulled up roughly by the collar of my shirt. I try to squirm from his grip as he does this, still trying to get away as the first fist comes flying towards my face. He catches the outside of my eye and lets go of my shirt just after I’m hit, balance isn’t a concept known to me then and I collapse to the floor, cracking my head against the cruel marble. My vision spins as I’m pulled up again, and hit again, and then shaken. My father is screaming something, his face almost against my own and I am too numb, my ears are ringing too loudly, I do not listen. I am shaken again and I finally focus my eyes on my father’s face, his words still not registering to me. He says something else, it was likely a question as I’m hit again and I fall again and this time I will not let him pull me back up. He is kicking me and I can feel it but I can’t.  
My mind is far away from my body at this point. I disconnect and shut down, receding deep into myself to the point where I am not even aware of my father pulling me roughly up the stairs, or tossing me into my room and locking the door behind him as he leaves. I am not aware any of this occurs until I wake up the next morning.  
I do not open my eyes immediately. The ground is cold and there is not light in the house and I am not sure why, and when I try to open my eyes only one is willing to open even halfway. They are swollen and my lip and cracked and I can taste the dried blood when I lick it and I remember where I am and what has happened and if tears would have fit out of my eyes they would have been running down my face in large numbers. I try to move once, but the screams my body give in protest make me decide against it and so I spend an hour lying awake on the floor, the stone hurting my joints and my head where it had bled after I hit it and I do not care. I don’t care at all and I couldn’t care if I tried.  
John is gone and he is alone and I am alone and that’s not right why am I not with John?  
The thought of John is motivating and although I am more numb than I even was during my father’s rage I am already thinking of how I can get John out before he is killed, because a lifetime of theft is no doubt a death sentence and if that happens I will be unable to live myself.  
Time moves by slowly and I eventually curl my toes, my fingers, stretching my wrists and my legs and then arms. I avoid contorting my torso or moving my head at all because it will not feel pleasant and I don’t want to be faced with anything else, but in the end I do have to sit up and doing so I rock so much that I am crawling to a corner of my room and vomiting, collapsing in front of it when I am done.  
I try again, slower. This time I make it onto my hands and knees without going faint and I am able to stand then, moving immediately towards my bed because I cannot stand long. I consider that I may be concussed as I am laying there, my head pounding and face throbbing and chest screaming.  
I can see the sun growing higher through the thick curtains in my room, and I am concerned about trying to help John escape in the state I am in and so I try to stand again, making it to the door and expecting it to swing open when- it does not budge.  
I rattle the handle, hear a snicker from just outside the door, and I am furious. I grab a chair and hurl it towards the door and when it hits and cracks I expect it to be satisfying, but all it succeeds in doing is making my vision flash and my head hurt more.  
It occurs to me that I will likely be kept in here until John is indeed dead, and I am desperate. I am, slowly, making my way around the room and checking it’s contents. I notice any weapons or anything that would be even remotely useful to me have been stripped from the room, and I grab a book and hurl that against the door as well.  
Moving back to the bed I am frustrated and scared, laying down rather dramatically atop the blankets and-  
Oh? The blankets.  
There are two, and I’m thinking that cut and wound, the rope you could make with them would be a decent sized one. Slowly pulling back the curtains I peer towards the ground, checking for any places I could stop halfway and change the rope so that it touches the bottom. There is only one window directly under mine, and it is closer to the ground than my room. If I can reach that, however, I would not need the rest of the rope, climbing inside and sneaking out shouldn’t be too difficult from that story. If the rope does not turn out to be long enough I could use the curtain as well, and I am almost positive that would be long enough.  
I set to work the moment I decide the best way to do this, with two long thin strips wound together and then tied to another pair of wound strips, continuing down the length of the rope.  
The work is tedious and boring and difficult trying to tie knots while barely being able to see, but what else am I to do? No food has even been sent in for me and I wonder if I am even going to get any as I continue ripping and winding and tying until I can’t feel my wrists and then keep going until I cannot continue any longer. Stretching what I have done out it’s not long at all and I feel like crying because I will not have it done in time, this could take weeks or months at the rate I am going and that is time that I do not have. I hide the rope and the shredded blanket in a drawer and lay down to sleep a short period until I can resume work on the rope. I check the sun’s height and decide it’s sometime around 7, not wanting to sleep past 10, but I don’t wake up until the sun can just barely be seen coming over the horizon and I want to die, I am an idiot, and I am thirsty.  
I pick up a broken chair leg and swing it repeatedly against the door until someone from the other side commands I stop.  
“I’m thirsty! Bring me something!” Ten minutes pass before the door is opening, a cup of light tea and a few pitas slide in and the door is shut again, and it hits me that I am literally a prisoner in my own home. I am not grateful for the food, more just..glad to have it. It’s gone in a matter of seconds and I pull the rope out again and begin work, in a few hours I’ve gone through one blanket and my eye is less swollen and the motions become routine and things move a lot more quickly. I am beginning on the second blanket when the door handle turns and I throw all of it under the bed.  
When Mycroft is the one who walks in I shut off immediately, deciding instead of listening to whatever he’s going to try to say to excuse himself to stare blankly at the wall ahead of me. He talks until he realizes I’m not listening, not even just pretending to not but actually not, and he sighs and gets up to leave. The door is locked again behind him, but I don’t think it’s Mycroft that actually locks it.  
I don’t linger on this, pulling the rope out again and continuing work.  
The day is ending and I have finished the second blanket, hoping that tying a piece of wood to the end and dangling it out the window will prove it is long enough, but it’s not even close and I do cry now, I am ready to give up but I remember John’s life is on the line and I hope he escapes or that his sentence is not death because I do not know if I will be done in time.  
I do not sleep that night, working through the material in the curtain more quickly than the two blankets and that is it, I am out of any fabric to use and I am afraid, terrified of lowering it over the side to check it’s length. The sun is coming up already and I don’t remember so much time passing, but it has and I lower the rope and-  
“Oh, god-..” I collapse to my knees grinning, it’s long enough and I don’t know who to thank but I’m thanking them, before tying the rope to the foot of my bed and setting a number of items on it, ensuring that it now weighs more than I do and I hope the foot of the bed does not snap or, or the rope break, but I don’t have another option as I lower myself over the balcony-  
-And it’s then that a guard opens the door to lay down another dish but I am not there and he sees me and runs over. My eyes go wide and I try to slide instead of climb down the rope but his hands are suddenly under my arms and I squirm and try to throw myself away from the window without caring what will happen if I succeed, but I don’t. The guard has me inside and he throws me onto the floor, pulling up the rope and untying it and then he is gone, and I am standing and staring at the door because all hope of getting out is gone and John is gone with it.  
The door opens again and it’s my father, and he stops in front of me and I have to lift my head to even hope to see his eyes and he doesn’t hit me, I don’t understand his expression, he stands there for a few more moments and then he turns to leave and I am confused.  
It’s not until I hear the lock that I begin to sob.  
Four more days pass. I become restless quickly, I pace, I scream, I throw anything in my reach either at the door or out the window. And I cry, I cry in those four days more than I have in my entire life. I am certain John is dead, and if not, I will undoubtedly never see him again at this point.  
I wake up on that sixth day, and when food does not arrive at the usual time I move towards the door to rattle the doorknob until it breaks because I have decided I am done, if they do not let me out I will simply throw myself from the window and that will be the end of it.  
But the door opens with a slight touch, and I peer outside and there is no one guarding the hall and I’m not sure whether they’ve let me out or not but I run, flying down the steps to the first floor. There are people ahead finally, and I force myself into composure, walking with a gait that I had practiced enough to ensure that it was read as “I am better than you and you are not worth my time.”  
It was just a small group of servants, carrying trays towards the cushioned dining room, and I give them just a quick glance as I continue to the garden, where I know I will be able to climb out if no one spots me first, but then I stop in my tracks and my knees shake when I notice one of the servant’s has a familiar blond hair, and my voice is hoarse from not speaking for a week but I manage to croak out John loud enough that the servant pauses, just for a moment, before continuing and for a moment I’m not sure it’s John, I back up and put a hand on his shoulder and it is John and I am blubbering. I stop when I notice that John isn’t listening, John isn’t responding and John isn’t even looking at me.  
His face is likely more bruised than my own and there is a third strike in his jaw and he stands out like a sore thumb. I try to set my other hand on his shoulder but suddenly he is pushing me off and hurrying back to the group of servants and I do not follow, I stand watching him walk off and I feel broken. 

-*-

The brilliant white smile faded and the mad that had entered the room placed his hands behind his back. He looked around the room curiously with his dark eyes. Those eyes finally turned back to John and the boy lowered his bruised head quickly. A sing-song voice emerged from the lips of this man and John thought for a moment how out of place it sounded before fully listening.  
"Oh no, no, no, I'm not going to hurt you. No of course not, that would just be mean wouldn't it?" The man took another step forward from across the cell. John lifted his head to look at him.  
"No, I need you, John."  
Th boy blinked up tiredly up at him, the surprise of the man knowing his name not even affecting him.  
James Moriarty knew many names. The boy was a small part in a very large opera of which he was the conductor. 

He stepped over a few more feet and, to John's surprise, sat himself down on the boy's legs. His knees were on either side of John's thighs and he rested back on the boys knees in thought.  
The silence that proceeded was enough to drive John to the point past uncomfortable and into the anxious get-off-of-me-before-I-scream phase.  
"You're going to do a very important job for me, Johnny boy."  
John exhaled and dared to look in the man's eyes.  
"In exchange for giving you the chance to escape the death sentence, you naughty boy, you are going to do a bit of..." the man thought for a moment before a twitch of a smile grazed his lips. "A bit of pest control. You are going to kill Prince Mycroft Right here in the palace."  
John flinched, a 'no' about to come out of his lips before it was stolen away from him by a fast hand grabbing his jaw. The strength lying in those fingers startled John. Suddenly he was terrified of his dark eyes that burned with hatred for a moment, yet turned, as if by a switch, to soft the next moment.  
"See that is the problem with humans these days," he said calmly, "they always need an incentive." He sighed heavily but did not let go of John's jaw. He seemed to be studying the boys scars as if he knew exactly where they came from. (Three of which he did.)  
"If you do not do what I ask, Harun, or should I say Sherlock, will die. It will not be a pretty death. He will suffer and scream and I will make sure you watch until all of the blood seeps from his little body and soaks your own pathetically dirty body."  
John was frozen, staring at hell's fire burning in the man's eyes.  
James Moriarty raised his eyebrows at him and suddenly hell's fire was distinguished.  
"Or is it you don't love him anymore? For I know you did. Captain Moran told me how you screamed for him. How you cried and how frozen you were when you discovered he was using you. Just another servant. Did you really think he cared? Do you really think he loved you?"  
"Shut up."  
"Well-"  
"Stop it."  
James smiled at the tears forming in the boys eyes. He lifted himself off John and straightened his expensive looking shirt. He tugged at his sleeves and looked mildly to John.  
"Do we have a deal?"  
John nodded his head limply. Moriarty clapped his hands together.  
"Swell! Knew you'd climb aboard Johnny boy."  
He turned to leave, yet before he reached the large iron door he turned half way back to John.  
"Oh and, Sebastian will be coming in shortly to tell you some rules of the house... and then some, For you'll be acting as a servent to the palace for the time being, of course."  
John felt as though he would throw up.  
"Well, I'd better be off."  
The room was dark once more and John wished that it could consume him whole. 

Sebastian came in a while later. He at first mused about Moriarty and whistled at the thought of him beating John senseless. But then his formal voice had set in and he told John the "rules of the house." Every rule that every servant would have to live by. He also told John where and when he would kill Mycroft and told him he would be back to make sure he knew this information once more. When John did not respond with a nod Sebastian would wind up and punch John in the gut. After he was done with all of this, he began giving John new rules. John felt his desperation set in and crush his heart completely as he listened.  
Not allowed to talk to Sherlock.  
Could not make eye contact with Sherlock.  
If he touches him Sebastian would carve one of John's old scars out again.  
If he dropped a plate or tripped or coughed or spoke in the wrong turn Sherlock would suffer.  
The slightest mistake and Sherlock would suffer.  
Sebastian left the room and John hung his head and sobbed into the darkness that refused to consume him. 

"John!" You hear from across the room. The silver plate you are holding flinches in your hands and your stomach twists into a tight not. The boy is tripping over his words as he runs up and places a hand on your shoulder. He wants you to look at him. Wants you to talk to him to say anything and you will not. You lower your head and feel your lip quiver. He says your name again, the hurt evident in the crack at the end. You want to collapse into him. Hold him to you and never let anyone take him away from you again. You want to collapse entirely you are so tired. He places another hand on your shoulder and you shrug him off quickly and make your way down the hall with the other servants. Tears stream down your face and you chance the slightest glance back at him, hoping to every god you know he saw that small look.  
That night you do not sleep at all. You only stare at the wall in the darkness that your eyes have adjusted to. The darkness that decides to sit next to you and accompany you rather than consume you. 

-*-

I do not see John at all the rest of that day. I look for him but I cannot find him and when I ask which room of the servant's quarters he is in I am not told or allowed in to check for myself. That night I do not allow myself to sleep, I am stationed outside of the door the servants enter the palace from in the morning and I wait to make sure I do not miss John when he is walking in.  
Over the course of a few hours beginning at 4, the servants all begin to enter and although it is not odd that they do not glance to me, sitting crosslegged and reading at the entry, it would be odd for John to do the same.  
John is one of the last to enter- I had been afraid that somehow I had missed him yet again, but that was not the case. He stumbles when he notices me, but catches himself immediately and snaps his eyes straight ahead. He still has not said a word. I sigh, folding the corner of the page in the book and standing to walk along behind him.  
I notice that his hands curl into fists as I follow, and I know that this is not from anger and so I am not sure what it is that drives him to do so but I do not turn back and I do not stop following. I also do not attempt to speak to him again, not yet.  
He goes about cleaning rooms for the beginning half of the day and it seems so dull and tedious that I want to send another servant in to do John’s work for him because John should be running along rooftops, not scrubbing floors. But I decide against this, and simply walk with with him and sit on beds while he works and sigh.  
As hours pass I notice he is only doing the rooms in the wing we are in and I have to resist smiling because it was this wing and the odds of that happening are incredibly low and there’s no way he is to know about that room so-  
“John. You missed a room.” He’d just turned to leave the wing as he’d finished, but froze upon hearing my voice. For a few moments he doesn’t move, he seems to be considering the best option here and I move forward to take his hand and show him but he draws back and still does not let me touch him. I roll my eyes.  
“Just follow me then.” I turn around and walk a few steps, pausing just a moment to check that he is actually following. When I am sure he is, I continue, leading him up the steep steps to that wing’s “unused” watchtower. He hesitates at the bottom, and I sigh.  
“I’m assuming your instructions has been to visit every room in this wing, yes? And this is, clearly, a room in the wing.” I turn ahead again, going up the steps a small bit more quickly. John still hesitates before following, but in the end does come.  
The climb is long and I’m terrified thinking that John is going to turn around and go back down and although he never does I hold my breath anyways. I hear his breathing rate increase and it’s not from the climb and so it leaves me wondering, as I open the hatch and climb into the bright room, not helping John up because I’m sure he will still attempt to evade my touch even up here.  
It is this room that I keep all items that have even the slightest sentimental value to me, which is little more than my violin, my mother’s journal, and equipment for the small bits of alchemy I have explored in. There is also a pallet up here, and lamps: the space serves as an escape from life as well as my father, at times stretching past a few days.  
I see John looking around, confused, and I speak. “Little know that this space exists, fewer- that being none besides us- that it is even used. There is no one here, John.” He looks sick and I frown, sighing.  
“I don’t know why you won’t speak to me or why you won’t let me touch you but I know it is not because you are mad at me and there’s no one to hear you here but me so just-” I pace, running a hand through my hair, “-Could you just explain?” 

-*-

You chance a glance at him every once and a while when his head turns in another direction. You want to tell him how handsome he is each tome you do but you bite your tongue to stop the words from coming out of your mouth.  
Though you are being granted his attention and presence, you can feel your desperation grow with each second he remains in the room. You wish he would talk, maybe for just a little while so you can hear his voice once more. Yet the voices of James Moriarty and Sebastian Moran filter into your head and you think strongly against this. The imagery of Sherlock laying on the ground, mutilated and bleeding, because of you keeps your head down and eyes strictly on the ground below you.  
You stand and turn to leave the last room you were required to clean, but are stopped when he says your name.  
"You missed one."  
The muscles in your arms and legs tense and you are unsure of what to do. He reaches for your hand and just grazes it with his finger tips before you pull away in a spike of panic. You look behind you and see no one there. You wonder if Moran would have sent anyone to watch you. He asks you to follow him up the stairs he has led you to and you shift on your feet nervously.

He starts up the stairs a few more steps ahead, and after a beat of a moment I follow him up. Of course I do. Why would I go nowhere else but where he asked?  
The stairs he leads me up remind me painfully of that first day I met him. How he had placed a hand on my shoulder and how I longed to do the same to him now. My breathing hitches and I hope he does not notice though I am sure he does.  
The room he takes me to seems closed off from the world. It is small yet comfortable. Things that seem significant are placed here and there in this small space and there is a pallet on the far side of the room. He begins talking once more. I listen and continue to turn my head away.  
"There is no one here, John."  
He continues on and my eyes stray towards his feet.  
He paces and runs a hand through his hair.  
"Can you just...explain?"  
There is a silence that follows as he waits. My jaw flexes and strains in thought. I shift and feel my heart shatter even more than it already has.  
I want to collapse into him. I want to collapse I am so exhausted and my legs shake under me.  
"I can't.." I finally say quietly, tears welling in my eyes. I glance up at him, our eyes meeting for a moment before I look away once more. I shake my head.  
"I can't, they'll hurt you if I do."  
He steps forward and seems to ask who. I shake my head once more and lean against the wall away from him. Suddenly I can stand no longer and I sit shakily, curling my legs in close to me and pressing my head against my knees.  
"I'm sorry." I whisper just loud enough for him to hear.

-*-

"I'm sorry." John lets out a shuddering breath, and I spin away from him, take a breath, and turn on my heel towards him again, bending down in front of him.  
"No- John, no. No. I don't know who this is or what they want from you, but you don't have to- you-" I sigh, growing frustrated with myself. I am confused. I don't understand what's going on- I should, it should be obvious, but I don't understand.  
"John. No one can make you do anything and if they're trying don't let them use me against you, we don't have to-..don't have to stay, we don't have to stay. We can leave- the city, completely. And, and..." I trail off, beginning to pace.  
"You shouldn't have to do this. I'm sorry I.." I'm not sure what to apologize for, but I feel this is my fault. John likely would have been better off still on his own on the streets, never having had met me in the first place.  
I kneel down in front of him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and resting my head on his. He tries to move away and I shush him, squeezing him before stepping back.  
"I can't keep you up here longer, it'll be noticed. I'm going to find a way to talk to you tomorrow. And I'll try to.." I begin to say "figure this out" but I feel like John would only become concerned about this. But theres no way I could just sit by- if not for John, then the fact that there is someone who does not doubt their capability to hurt me at any convenient time. But of course it's for John.  
"John.." I start to say something, but I'm unsure of what I had wanted to say. Instead I reach down and help him up, and at the bottom of the steps he goes one way and I go another. I sigh, but if he is afraid to even talk to me then there must be someone watching.  
I am walking aimlessly through the halls, thinking. My mind immediately goes to Moran- his constant antagonization of John paired with the fact that he's a fucking dishonest brute of a man..  
I decide to gather more knowledge on Moran, and head to my father's study- which is usually empty at this time of day, probably.  
I haven't run into either my father or Mycroft yet today, I suspect that since I've not seen either that there has been some meeting called. Moran shouldn't be bothering John in that case either. I'm glad, as I slide into the dark study and pull back the edge of the curtain just enough to be able to see.  
There's an entire wall serving as shelves filled with scrolls, documents. All files on various people and places, plans and strategies. I sigh as I sit on the floor and begin searching through them, trying to gather as much regarding Moran or anyone or thing else that could be what is putting John through this.


End file.
